George’s stomach twisted. Just what he needed, something else to add to his pile.
He waved the butler forth and took the envelope from the silver tray.
For several seconds, he stared at the handwriting on the front. He recognized it well. Mr Jones, the solicitor, was well known in these parts, and George had corresponded with him often since his father’s passing.
Yet, he had believed everything had been settled regarding his father’s estates. All he could hope was that something terrible hadn’t been uncovered during his absence.
“Thank you, Dawling,” George said dismissively. Whatever this letter was, he wished to be alone when he read it.
Mr Dawling was a respectable man, a loyal servant of the family, and yet, George still didn’t entirely trust him. All servants were known to gossip.
“Might I ask, do you need anything else, Your Grace?” Dawling asked, hesitating by the door.
George shook his head as he picked up the letter opener from his desk. “No, thank you. Leave me.”
Only when the butler had firmly closed the door behind him did George dare to remove the letter from its envelope.
Lord George Ellsworth,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I am writing to you today to request your honourable presence at the residence of the Dowager Countess of Westmere, Lady Rosalind Flannery, this very afternoon.
Some urgent business has come to light, and it cannot wait.
I have written to the lady herself to request an audience and hope to find you there in due course.
Sincerest Regards
Mr Patrick Jones
Of Jones & Co.
George’s interest was piqued for only a moment before realizing what this letter meant.
Attending the funeral had been hard enough. So many memories had been brought forth in that churchyard.
But the visit to Fernworth Manor, the very place where it felt his life had come crashing down, made him feel sick to his stomach.
Still, the urgent tone of Mr Jones letter left him with little doubt. He had to attend. Whether he liked it or not.
And so, against his better judgement, he did.
That afternoon, he arrived to find Fernworth Manor almost as he had left it. The gardens were as manicured and lush as ever they had been. And the house itself stood tall and proud at the centre of them, forever unchanged with its grand sandstone facade, its window beds flourishing.
As his carriage travelled down the driveway, he could almost forget about the last several years and all he had seen and felt.
He could almost imagine he was that seventeen-year-old boy again, come to spend the summer in his favourite place. Come to seeher.
It was only when he glimpsed the fountain through the trees that he remembered he hadn't.
He was here on business and nothing more.
If the war had taught him anything, it was that duty was duty, and as he was now duke, it fell upon him to do the right thing, whatever that may be.
He scoffed silently to himself wondering what his father might say of him now. The man who had never been happy with him no matter how hard he tried.
Though he tried not to, he could not help thinking of the day before. He had never expected to be called to Fernworth Manor so soon after seeing Lady Cecelia at the funeral.
